HOWARD HAWKS

“People took the silence of the movies for granted because they never quite lost the feeling that what they saw was after all only pictures. This feeling alone, however, would not be sufficient to prevent the lack of sound being felt as an unpleasant violation of the illusion. That this did not happen is again connected with what was explained above: that in order to get a full impression it is not necessary for it to be complete in the naturalistic sense. All kinds of things may be left out which would be present in real life, so long as what is shown contains the essentials. Only after one has known talkies is the lack of sound conspicuous in a silent film. But that proves nothing and is not an argument against the potentialities of silent film, even since the introduction of sound.”

--Rudolf Arnheim

Part I: The Silent Films

(Written on a comedown from the first installment of the BFI Hawks retrospective. Enjoy the unintegrated Arnheim quote, taken from the canonical Film As Art. Apologies in advance for my parenthetical – or pathetic-al? – asides. This is the first of too many.)

How to characterize Hawks' early silent films? What about them matters?

What I have seen: “Fig Leaves,” “The Cradle Snatchers,” “Trent's Last Case,” and “A Girl In Every Port.” The last is the most successful of the crop (not to be confused with the one from the fifties with Groucho!). It is credited with establishing Hawks as an auteur and Brooks as a luminously beautiful sex kitten possessing unusual qualities that stretch beyond the parameters of this film and were eventually brought to fruition in “Pandora’s Box”. (It would be a disgrace to call her a man-eater; everyone knows she did everything in inimitable style.) What usually comes with the territory of discussing this film is modernity, sexually forward Hawksian women, the sublimation of homosexual desire within the male dyad, an overall candid attitude towards sex, the presence of key thematic elements that have lasted throughout Hawks’ career, and a “simplifying style” that doesn’t call attention to itself cinematographically or dramatically. I am not really going to set up arguments for any of this; it’s not what especially interests me. The program[i] insinuates that it is the casting of Louise Brooks in this context that constitutes the success of the film. But this is not so. It is partly due to pacing. None of the other silent films move at the right clip; they make you feel grateful for Chaplin, and they make you glad that Hawks outgrew silence, jumping right into dialogue and gunfire and sound in general. However, there is one exception - “A Girl In Every Port” reassures you that Hawks does not need talk to cover up awkward silences. This film moves exactly as it should and achieves dramatic focus – well, it is a film about two sailors trying to get girls in every port. “Fig Leaves” is too whimsical, “The Cradle Snatchers” revolves around a plot that overworks a tired joke (you won’t find any proto-feminist reappraisals here), and “Trent's Last Case” is possibly too clever for its own good, marked by eccentricities, intricacies, and flashbacks that are only an exercise in themselves[ii]. 

It is possible to criticize or, more likely, dismiss “A Girl In Every Port” for its calculated simplicity, for being so well-oiled a little machine, yielding laughs against your better judgment – this isn't the question of how something so obvious in its workings could have artistic merit, but rather why a taciturn, all-American prick like Hawks would spend time on such transparent, giddily formulaic structures, especially in light of the fact that he is not able to imbue them with any magic. I think the solution to this puzzle is twofold: first, to say that there is always something dark, if not pointedly cynical or downright sinister, going on in a Hawks film, and second, which I will get to in a moment, to ask what sort of magic you are looking for. As for the first, I think the innocence of the early films is only used as a conduit for nastier themes; can you see that too? Moreover, that is what makes them enjoyable. The dark and the light are always in close contact. This brings me to my next point: London strikes me as a great city in which to experience a Hawks retrospective. As an outsider, what was most notable to me about London from the start is its inability to relax – reflected in the carefully constructed androgyny of the young and pretties, the confined panic of the Tube, and bursts of unprompted attitude, misplaced interest. A Hawks film has bite – I’m sure you have thought about it before, and if you are new to Hawks’ films, you can see it in Bacall’s perma-sneer (more on my obsession with Bacall in the forthcoming Part II). If London is warped and unsentimental, so is Hawks. Not a bad match – I should also say that rainy days and cigarette smoke suit them both. Except with the former that's all you ever get; with Hawks, you can expect more.

The “more,” as I have already mentioned, does not have much to do with MAGIC – the magic, the lift, the transcendent ray of light and genius you find in Capra, Chaplin, and Vigo – but with a layered naturalism that you can see even from the early silents. If you look more carefully, in these films you will find that it is not the transparent formulas – as beautifully as they work – that do the work. The structure easily falls away like Christmas wrapping, and it's what's left that every “critic” or film lover is challenged to properly characterize. In “A Girl In Every Port,” you can see miles away that Marie (Louise Brooks) will show up with that tattoo under her arm bracelet. You know, and of course are a bit relieved, that the friendship between Spike and Bill will outlast the treacherous ways of the Parisian high-diving carnival star Mlle. Godiva, who exhibitionistically glitters one moment and looks privately depraved the next (as on the park bench with Spike, who has just sincerely asked her if there could ever be a chance for him). 

So, what do we have left? Which scenes stay in the mind, other than Louise Brooks’ seamless, deadly physique? When Spike and Bill are out carousing – little black book serving as compass – looking for the woman with a “body like an eel,” it is a hit or miss set of affairs. They hit up the wrong apartment. A stern, matronly woman opens the door; her life is about iron will, not abandonment. There are many such gags that revolve around the little black book – and the need to update it – throughout the film. In fact, the film starts off with just such a slapstick joke, involving Girl From Holland #2 and a tandem bicycle. This scene is prima facie no different, but comes with a surprising touch. On the second try, the two sailors enter an apartment that is seemingly vacant but for a child – a little boy. The conversation that takes place between the sailors and the boy unfolds mostly in the imagination. However, you can see Spike form the words “Poor little fella,” after the child asks Spike if he knew his dad, since his dad was a sailor too (Spike’s had a series of children popping out of apartments, so far who are not his own, but this one would have been hatched around the right time according to the black book) and that he was “drownded.” There is a long, grim pause. The two sailors, who have been nothing but trouble, a pair of drunken buffoons,[iii] reveal more of their inner personality than outer persona (intrinsic vs. instrumental, if you like) in this moment. 

Glimpses into how individuals work are usually not this peeled in the Hawksian legacy, but they are a consistent and unstrained part of it. No formulas come with this sort of thing: these are naturalistic moments that push their way out of the backdrop of formulas, or the most elegant and labyrinthine of structures. Not exactly MAGIC, though, as there is nothing transcendent about them; they tend to inform you about the characters on screen you thought you already knew, and they perform their cinematic duty quietly.

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[i] Not the program notes, by the way, which are snatched up from this dumb paper holder attached to the wall before the film starts – I never got a copy of the program notes on “A Girl In Every Port.” If I do, I may make some additions to this piece (also, if I ever get the chance to view Capra's early films, I would like to do a comparison). Why can’t the BFI just hand them out?

[ii] Although, having said this, I should admit that of the three, “Trent's Last Case” yielded the most buoyant laughter in the audience, which was counter to my expectations. I may need to see the film again! There are campy elements, but they mostly didn’t hit home for me. Originally “Murder Will Out,” based on a British mystery Hawks loved, it suffered from being shot as Hawks’ first all-talking picture then forced back into being shot as a silent. Maybe it had to do with silent star Raymond Griffith’s damaged vocal chords – thanks to WWI poison gas – or maybe it didn’t. In the end, probably a legal screw-up over sound rights ultimately killed the film’s commercial promise and bungled its aesthetic composition.

[iii] There is an incredible, swift shot, haphazardly framed, of the sailors’ trousers and shoes, recklessly weaving back and forth across the street – a simple cinematographic concept, but gold, and a good example of what people mean when they say Hawks is economical.